"Come on!" whispered the rescuer huskily. "Mitchell sent me. He'll take
you away in his car."

"Wait a minute! We'd just as well take these cigars," answered Pete in
the same slinking tone. "Here; take a handful. How'd you get in?"

"Held the jailer up with a gun. Got him tied and gagged. Shut up, will
you? You can talk when you get safe out of this." He tip-toed away, Pete
following. The quivering searchlight crept along the hall; it picked out
the stairs. Halfway down, Pete touched his guide on the shoulder.

"Wait!" Standing on the higher stair, he whispered in the larger man's
ear: "You got all the keys?"

"Yes."

"Give 'em to me. I'll let all the prisoners go. If there's an alarm,
it'll make our chances for a get-away just so much better."

The Samaritan hesitated.

"Aw, I'd like to, all right! But I guess we'd better not."

He started on; the stair creaked horribly. In the hall below Pete
overtook him and halted him again.

"Aw, come on--be a sport!" he urged. "Just open this one cell, here, and
give that lad the keys. He can do the rest while we beat it. If you was
in there, wouldn't you want to get out?"